Untold Stories
by Fic Fairy
Summary: A little slice of Medical School life seen through the eyes of 20 year old Connie Chase, and her first love, House Officer, and future Holby Consultant Anaesthetist, Paul Rose. FORMATTING ISSUE NOW RESOLVED


I think of my first love every time I insert a cannula. It's just instinctive. Insert, advance, flow, secure, think of Paul. Smile. I've been caught in the act on more than one occasion, most usually by Charlie in recent years, and often been questioned about it. Not that I ever give anything away.

My initial introduction to cannula insertion however was not quite so blissful; quite the opposite in fact. I was a third year medical student, attempting to cannulate a latex covered manikin arm, hands shaking, feeling physically sick because everyone else on my placement firm had nailed it near instantly and I was really struggling. None of which was helped by the eye rolling and irritated sighs of my Surgical Teaching Fellow who for some reason had taken against me on first sight and never really given me a chance.

The end result was, I failed the skills test, didn't get signed off and had developed a near pathological fear of all things cannula like. That said that was no bad thing, as that was the set of circumstances that led me to Paul.

I remember the day so clearly; it's like it was yesterday. The day after the Clinical Skills session from hell, I turned up at Breakfast Club – nothing to do with Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez; it was just a lecture session with croissants – and tried to squelch my misgivings about the course of action I'd decided, whilst crying in my student digs the night before, I needed to take.

Yes, crying. I did that, back in the day.

Misgivings partially squelched I walked to the front where Michael Beauchamp, our Surgical Teaching Fellow and the absolute bane of my life was waiting.

And yes, I do mean that Michael Beauchamp. The ex husband. It would have been somewhat of a coincidence otherwise wouldn't it?

And so, given that it was that Michael Beauchamp it won't surprise you to hear that he was, as I approached, extolling the virtues of our teaching group to the man next to him, not in terms of raw clinical talent or knowledge based excellence, but with a focus on which of the girls had the finest breasts.

Although I was morbidly interested to know where I'd come in his list, I largely suspected I wouldn't make the cut, and so cleared my throat in an attempt to get his attention. He looked at me, visibly and audibly snorted and then turned back to the other man.

He always was a complete wanker.

I tried a second time, adding his name for clarity and then when he looked at me, made eye contact and gave him a winning smile that extended no further than my face.

"Could I have a word please?"

He snorted again, "I presume the word is cannula." He looked at his companion, "This is the one I told you about; all mouth and zero ability."

My winning smile faded quite dramatically at that point. No one likes a put down, especially not in front of total strangers. However, it was at that moment that I noticed something about the man stood next to Michael. He looked like he wanted to smack him in the face. It was a look I knew well, as it was one I frequently modelled myself. Buoyed by this, I returned the winning smile to my face and tried again; "Dr Beauchamp, please, I know I can do it this time. I just need five minutes to show you."

"No." he shook his head, "You 'knew' you could it 10 times yesterday, and quite blatantly couldn't. So you can go away and practice, at length, for the rest of the placement. Then I might consider retesting you."

So that was me told; but when did I ever walk away from an argument? I always was stubborn, even back then. I opened my mouth to argue – no winning smile this time, he didn't deserve it – but before I could he cut me dead.

"Enough Miss Chase; we don't have time for this. Dr Rose is waiting to get started."

At his words I allowed myself a sly glance at 'Dr Rose' who still looked like he'd like to wipe Michael's smug smile off of his face, and didn't seem even slightly interested in getting started, but I decided to give up anyway. I clearly wasn't getting anywhere. I smiled at Dr Rose apologetically, "Sorry. I'll let you get on."

I stepped away then, and went to find myself a seat in the lecture theatre as far away from Michael as possible, but not before noticing that I was very definitely on the receiving end of a charming smile from the morning's speaker; a set of circumstances that repeated themselves more than once during the course of his lecture.

Said lecture was, actually, very good. Breakfast Club sessions were run by House Officers and Senior House Officers – the olden days equivalents of F1s and F2s – to give them some experience of teaching, and as such, they tended to be a bit hit and miss. Dr Rose, such as he was to me at that point, had a great presentation style, very clear and confident and the content of the IV fluids lecture was well pitched at his audience most of whom, in true breakfast club style, were half asleep anyway.

But, if I'm honest, it wasn't his lecture that won me over. It was what he did at the end of it that really lifted him in my estimations.

I was still in my seat, filling in my feedback form, when I became aware of him standing over me, which was slightly awkward given the fact I'd just written, "Dr Rose had nice twinkly eyes"; unprofessional I know, but the forms were anonymous and we all used to write comments like that to give our Course Coordinators a giggle. I stuffed it into my bag and looked up at him questioningly,

"Can I help you?"

He shook his head, and gave me that smile again, "No. But I can help you. Come on."

Slightly taken aback I followed him out of the lecture theatre but once we reached the foyer of the University Teaching Building I stopped in my tracks, "What is all this about?"

He laughed slightly, "He got one thing right about you. You DO ask a lot of questions." Michael's assessment I presumed. I'd always known he hadn't appreciated the very inquisitive side to my nature, and almost pathological need to extend my learning. "Are you free now?" He asked.

I nodded. I'd got nothing until teaching with 'Lord Beauchamp' as I'd styled him, that afternoon. I'd been intending to go and do some reading in the library but clearly I was about to get a better offer.

"Come with me then."

He led me through the hospital site, which was something of a hotchpotch of buildings which had sprung up between the small cottage hospital being built and the present day, in through the main entrance and then up to one of the wards.

As I followed him in, I couldn't help but ask one of my apparently characteristic questions, "What are we doing?"

"You'll see." He said, as he arrived at the Nurses station and leant on it, smiling at the Nurse who sat behind it, "Kate, any chance of a favour for your favourite SHO?"

Kate smiled. She obviously knew him well, and as it happened would end up doing even more so, but that comes much further down the line. "What do you want?"

He gave me a sideward glance then responded, "Got any patients we could cannulate?"

Whenever we've discussed this since, Paul likes to remind me that it was at those words that I paled and looked close to fainting, but it needs to be looked at in context. I'd failed miserably to cannulate a latex, non-moving arm and he was threatening to let me loose on a real one.

Oblivious to my suffering she handed him a list, "Be my guest."

As we walked away from the Nurses station and onto the ward I looked at Paul, my panic growing, "Dr Rose, whilst I really, really appreciate you taking the time to do this, I can't cannulate a patient. You have no idea how bad I am."

He laughed, "Trust me I do. Dr Beauchamp gave me quite a breakdown of your talents or lack thereof." He looked at me curiously, "He doesn't like you much does he? What caused that?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. But," I added, "whatever he told you about my cannulation skills is bound to be true." I looked away, embarrassed, "I am appalling bad at it."

He looked at me kindly, "No such thing as bad students, only bad teachers, and I'm going to hazard a guess that Mr Charm Personified spent far more time giving Kayleigh one to one instruction than you."

It was my turn to laugh then; Dr Rose had clearly got my Teaching Fellow's number. Kayleigh was on my firm; and was blonde, bubbly with double D breasts. Quite the antithesis of me meaning Michael was her number one fan. I smiled, "I couldn't possibly comment, Dr Rose."

"Paul," he said, with a nod, "and I admire your discretion. Now, cannulation…"


End file.
